


Cooperative Tidbits

by Stephanielikes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drowley, Hand Jobs, M/M, SPN Kink Meme, That's it. That's the fic., short-short story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2481866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephanielikes/pseuds/Stephanielikes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley tries his hand with Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cooperative Tidbits

**Author's Note:**

> Dean is 35. Crowley is as old as time lost.  
> Occurs the night before 09.11 First Born.

                Another starless night had long since crept across the still corn field and dusty state road, spilling its bleak darkness into the quietrooms of the Jolly Knights Motel. Situated between protected marsh and commercial farmland, the white stucco building stood as a final rest before the hours of stark, isolated highway. Its large, fluorescent sign glowed as a beacon to the few lost souls who wandered its way.

                The sign flickered feebly before guttering out; the separate neon ‘Vacancy’ light bathed the parking lot in red. Lightening struck the swamp. The clerk looked out of the office. The shapely silhouette of the guest in 41 graced the curtains as she peered out at the clear sky before retreating back into the depth of her room. The sign struggled back to life; muted white light rejoined red. Noting nothing else of interest, the clerk turned back to her mobile with a bored sigh.

                The King of Hell stood in room 42, his back to the large, clear bay window, taking in the stale stench of dirty laundry. He sneered. A faint tick sounded as the antiquated flip clock flicked one minute later. Crowley stepped over the soiled sock on the floor, past the discarded jeans, and picked a path to an out of the way corner. Neither in this life, nor the others he had suffered through, would anyone’ve been stupid enough to accuse the demon of patience, but he was a master of biding his time, thus he waited as minute after minute noisily flipped by.

tick.

                Tick.

                                TIck.

                                                TICk.

                                                                TICK.

                Crowley gestured at the clock and a small spark flared. Time advanced without the cacophonous din. He looked around the grimy room, taking in the worn duffle – no doubt filled with a mixture of dirty clothes and clean weapons. The dark, threadbare carpet, though of uncertain colour in the grey light, did not hide the stains of suspect origins. Nor did its counterpart, masquerading as a blanket on the lone king sized bed, appear less used. The King absently brushed his tailored black suit with his hands as if it would stave off contamination. He checked his A. Lange & Söhne watch twice before the distant growling of an ancient beast could be heard over the deafening silence.

                The roaring grew louder until the fine layer of gravel outside crunched beneath its tread. The rumble died when the beast’s engine cut out. A car door slammed and heavy, dragging steps shook the aluminum stair. Muffled muttering preceded the hard slide of the deadbolt before the door swung open; features obscured in shadow, the menacing man behind it filled nearly the whole frame. The demon momentarily appreciated that this was the legend monsters warned their spawn about.

                Dean Winchester shifted the slipping box under his left arm and switched the low watt lamp on. Though less minacious in the sallow light, Crowley held back from declaring his presence, preferring to observe. Even half asleep and half drunk, The Winchester was the most lethal creature the King had had the pleasure of manipulating, which was, of course, why he sought the man now.

                The box was nothing more than a case of beer still frosty from the freezer it had recently been pulled. Crowley almost felt bad for whichever greasy gas station attendant had been faced with the decision of risking their job or refusing to sell Dean alcohol after last call. He didn’t quite manage the empathy as they’d clearly made the intelligent choice. Dean dropped the case on the bed, opening it in the same fluid movement. Crowley noted the hunter’s right hand lingered near his waist.

                Pftsst.

                The first can fizzed open. Dean drank deeply, his adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. When he finished, he let out a wet burp and tossed the empty can in the general direction of the bin, already overflowing with the hollow carcasses of its brethren.

                “You here, dick?” On the final syllable, Dean’s lip curled with disgust as he questioned the supposed emptiness.

                The lack of wards and traps made sense when the Demon King realized he was expected. Unwilling to play the game on the hunter’s terms, Crowley stayed hidden.

                “Yeah, whatever.” The man’s hand left the bone handle of the Kurdish knife and grabbed the television remote before he flopped onto the mattress, laying back with his head and shoulders propped against the backboard. He clicked the T.V. on, tossed the remote down and took out another can of beer. Forced moans of pleasure, grunts of exertion and the slap of skin on skin filled the space. There were more important matters the King could be seeing to, but he couldn’t deny a flushed fascination in watching the slow descent into apathetic debauchery laid before him.

                Dean reached between his legs and squeezed the soft bulge through his dark wash jeans. Palming circles over his cock, he humped, finished his third beer and gave up with the same languidness he’d started. Opening the fourth pop-top, he turned the volume down and continued watching through heavy lidded eyes. Half a case and two sex scenes later, Dean’s chin hit his chest and a low snore joined the moaning; a glimmer of drool dampened the corner of his mouth.

                An outsider might’ve considered it foolish to stalk the man who’d held you captive in his dungeon for months, but to Crowley it was akin to love. The King of Hell circled his prey for nearly a week before picking his moment and was loathe to abandon it. For his own safety, he’d wait to enact his plan, but he might as well get an evening of entertainment out of the dozing hunter.

                Crowley dragged his fingertips along the inside length of the man’s leg, veering with the muscle and joint away from the twitching package more interested in the ghost light touch than its owner’s hard fondling. He lifted the ratty hem of Dean’s t-shirt with his right hand, ending the upwards trail of his left by grasping and disarming Dean of the deadly relic blade. The demon tossed it at the pile of trash. Dean would never be certain how it got there, only that he was never so careless.

                Assured a relative level of safety, Crowley caressed Dean’s groin. Rubbing and squeezing, soft then rough, the King teased the man hard. The loose jeans stretched tight in an excited tent. He pushed the crown to the side, negotiating the stiffening length beneath the fabric and trapping it in the pant leg straining against Dean’s taut thigh. Using his thumb and forefinger, Crowley smoothed the shaft from root to tip. Dean hummed in approval.

                Continuing the muted strokes, the demon cupped the hunter’s testes, rolling them in his hand. The man shifted lower spreading his bowed legs and pushing into the supple fondles. Crowley pulsed between a loose and tight grip, massaging up to the head and pinching. Dean moaned; his eyes fluttered, glossy and unfocused, before falling shut again. The King grinned and rubbed parallel up the dick, reveling in the slide of jeans over boxers. Curling his fingers as far under the man’s cock as he could against the constraining fabric, Crowley ran just his thumbs up and caressed small circles under the rim of Dean’s glans. Dean coiled his fingers in the blanket.

                Starting at the head, Crowley stroked back as if petting a cat, increasing the pressure the closer to the base he got. He did it again, and again. And again. A light sheen of sweat dampened Dean’s creased brow. Crowley thrust two rigid fingers into Dean’s perineum. The man bucked and shouted, his eyes flying open, panting through his nose, and searching wildly. The King held back for the five seconds it took the Winchester to lay down in a more comfortable position, shutting his legs and crossing his ankles before drifting back to sleep.

                “I love when you play hard to get.” Crowley drawled, scratching his nail on the inside of the man’s thigh who unhooked his ankles not even half a minute after he’d hooked them.

                The bare strip of skin between bottoms and top called to the demon, soft and vulnerable, everything the hunter pretended he wasn’t. Crowley pressed his fingers into it, pulled away, and watched the blood flood back into the capillaries. He brushed the nearly invisible down that covered Dean’s stomach. The king imagined the darker hair hidden lower. Not one for half measures, he unbuckled Dean’s belt and paused, pursing his lips. Looking at the man’s features, slackened in a deep sleep, Crowley _felt_ something. Devotion. Adoration. The demon scowled as if sucking on a lemon, then tucked his fingers into the waistband sliding them side to side, brushing over the coarser hair he desired. Sweeping back to the center, he popped the button and tore the zipper open.

                Dean wore tatty, hunter green, slim fit boxers. The band had long ago lost its elasticity and the cotton knit its form. Stretching the waist down, Crowley exposed the golden brown trail and followed it to the trimmed patch below Dean’s obliques; the creamy veined base of his cock, just visible, pimpled with goosebumps in the sudden chill. Crowley pinned it down and massaged around the root. Dean rotated his hips, seeking more friction.

                Letting the band go, the demon snaked his hand through the fly. He traced the scorching heat to the crown and parted Dean’s slit with the pad of his index finger, gliding back and forth over the receptive tissue. Keening, Dean arched his back. Amused by the response, Crowley immediately stopped. Dean breathed a sigh of loss. Chuckling, the King worked the hard prick through the opening in the hunter’s underwear. Flushed pink and throbbing, the Winchester’s cock stood long and thick with a subtle curve towards his belly.

                “No wonder you drive the crowds wild.” Crowley teased as he took the naked member fully in hand and gave a few enthusiastic jerks; Dean chased the tug. With fingertips, the King skimmed skyward, then palmed down, rotating sides until Dean whined from the dry burn. Gripping the base, Crowley rubbed small circles into the cockhead with the heel of his hand. Sliding the steadying hand up to the crown rim, the demon kneaded the sensitive spot on the underside. He milked pre-cum until his palm was slick with it. Licking his lips, he smeared the natural lubricant down Dean’ shaft. Crowley worked up a mouthful of spit, leaned close to the musky head and slowly let it dribble from his mouth, over the tip, and run down the length. Drool pooled in the creases of his curled fingers. Back at the glans, the King forced Dean’s prick through both his clenched fists in quick succession, twisting at the base. Dean erratically thrust into the seemingly endless channel; his face tensed in concentration, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, chasing the final pleasure.

                A devilish smirk spread over the demon’s face, his pointed, white teeth adding to the unseen horror. He tucked the pretty cock back into the boxers, gripping the fabric and shifting it so the dick wouldn’t slip out. Crowley wormed one hand inside through the waist and grasped Dean’s burning package. The other hand, he forced between the jeans and underwear tickling the sensitive scrotum, pulling the sac back and played with Dean’s taint, massaging clockwise in slow circles for a quarter minute before reversing direction. To Crowley’s surprised and endless delight, the man reached between his legs and tried to hold the King’s hand in place while he ground his hips. Dean held his breath until his lungs burned, then exhaled loudly, panted and held it again.

                Crowley surreptitiously swapped his and Dean’s hands, coaching the hunter into pressing harder and rubbing faster. When Dean kept the rhythm without coaxing, the demon circled the tip of Dean’s cock with his thumb and forefinger, trapping the slit tight against the fabric. With punishing strokes, he jacked the whole length up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

Up.

                And.

Down.

                Dean grunted, he stopped massaging his prostate and squeezed his balls. Milk white come oozed through the cotton. The demon jerked the man’s twitching cock, screwing his fingers around the sensitive head. His senses overloaded, Dean tried to squirm away, successful only because Crowley let him go. Dean rested his freed hand on his belly and rubbed happily. Being careful not to catch anything, Crowley zipped Dean up, and relished the hunter’s whimper as he palmed the sticky mess into the softening cock. A wet patch seeped through the jeans. The demon licked a thread of come from his thumb, lapping the bitter saltiness up. He smeared the glob on his finger over Dean’s flushed, pouty lips - who licked them clean.

                “Enjoy it.” Crowley cooed at the loose limbed man grinning in his sleep. “Tomorrow it’s all business.” With less fanfare than his arrival, the King of Hell made his egress, disappearing to parts unknowable.

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill for the SPN Kink Meme prompt (http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/88207.html?thread=34664847#t34664847): Dean is drunk and on the verge of passing out in his motel room. Alone. Crowley is there but remains invisible. He strokes Dean off through his jeans at first but eventually takes him in hand and jerks him off proper. Dean is completely out of it and unaware of anything but the fact that it feels realllly good.
> 
> Can be first time it happens or maybe its a thing Crowley does.


End file.
